


Beyond Borders

by WinterEyes



Series: The wolfbane blooms and the autumn moon is bright [3]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: AU-alwaysplatonic Sybil/Vimes, Action/Adventure, Drama, Gen, M/M, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, Slash, WerewolfVimes AU, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-02-19 06:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2378558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterEyes/pseuds/WinterEyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The repercussions of recent events have only just begun. Unwelcome eyes have turned towards Ankh-Morpork, leaving everyone vulnerable when Vimes and Vetinari are drawn away from the city.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How many the sheep may be

Christine simpered over the rutted track, hugging close on the arm of her mysterious stranger.

‘This is all so exciting!’ she thought, ‘And daring! And he is so handsome!’

The moonlight washed over them, giving their surroundings a romantic air. Obviously, this sort of thing doesn’t come naturally to cabbages, but they were trying their best and were quite pleased with the result.

“Is there much further to go!?” she asked, with an affected breathlessness that almost disguised the exclamation mark. “Such late-night walks may leave me in delicate health for tomorrow’s performance! I would hate to damage the voice that so won your heart!”

The man looked down at her, his eyes almost glowing in the shadows cast by his hat’s broad brim. The side of his mouth lifted in a lopsided grin, and he bent low so the breath of his response ghosted over her neck.

“Not long now my little song-bird,” he replied, his voice a deep but pleasant growl. “I simply wish to remove you from the city so it cannot hear or disturb us. But if your legs grow weary…”

He bent and effortlessly swung her into his arms, nestling her head against his shoulder. She giggled artfully and snuggled closer, reveling in this daydream made real.

First had come roses. Not the strange dead stems the Ghost had left her but lush living ones that flooded her room with scent, almost overpowering that of the street outside. Then the whispers of the chorus girls - the best box had been reserved for a month by an anonymous gentleman, who only used it to watch _her_ perform.

No-one seemed to know any more. Even when she wrote to Lady Ramkin, met during the brief phase when her destiny had been to save abandoned dragons at the Sanctuary, all Christine found was that the man was no-one in society. Finally came a small card, tucked into a bouquet of blood-red blossoms;

_‘If the songbird will fly alone to the stage door after tonight’s performance, she will find someone waiting to spread her wings.’_

Obviously news of her voice had captured the heart of some far-off prince, leaving him unable to rest until he had won her hand. It was perfect. Ever since she was little, Christine had know she only needed to dream her dream and follow her star, then everything would finally turn out right.

She didn’t notice the shift from day-dreams to true sleep, but awakened instantly as her feet touched the ground. The soft inquiry froze on her lips as she turned, seeing the man she had fancied to love become a monster before her eyes. Her scream became a choked gurgle as sharp teeth found her throat, then all around them the soil bloomed crimson.

They really were _very_ clever.


	2. The Wheel Turns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost no cabbages were harmed in the making of this chapter

The smell was a choking, metallic haze over the fields, even before the body became visible. Vimes turned slightly, concentrating on the stench of the city that still hulked at their backs. By his side, Angua kicked a cabbage out of the soil and they both relaxed somewhat at the twin smells of dry earth and distressed vegetable.

Carrot coughed diplomatically and stepped up to both of them. Behind him a gang of watchmen, supervised by Cheery, moved carefully around a pathetic figure sprawled amid the rows.

“Sorry to send for you in the middle of the meeting sir, but…”

Vimes cut him off, looking past Carrot at the scene.

“Captain, if the situation was any different I would be thanking you. Angua told me a little on the way here, but you’d better start from the beginning.”

“The farmer only found the body this morning sir, when he came to weed the fields.”

Carrot indicated the small man standing off to the side, wearing the forlorn expression of somebody whose life had become far more complicated than they would have liked.

“Only?” Vimes interjected, as Carrot turned back through the pages of his notebook.

“From the state of the body, Cheery thinks the girl was killed at some time late last night sir, and it’s clear that no-one else went near the scene till she was found. Few people come this far out from the road, so nothing has been disturbed. We also found no note with the body, so this isn’t the work of the Assassin’s Guild.”

“Have we any idea who the girl was?”

Vimes kept his face carefully neutral as he said it, but his feet itched to be back in the city and on the trail. It had been so long since the Watch had found anything like this - the Guilds and the Shades swallowed evidence and guilt alike, however much he tried to stop them. But this one; taking her so far from the city meant someone was trying to hide, so Vimes would chase them, find them…and make them pay.

“Christine sir, a lead soprano from the Opera house.”

Vimes vaguely remembered Christine as a thin white blur with a voice that seemed permanently surprised by life in general. He couldn’t think of anyone who would want her dead, apart from some composers who were long dead themselves.

“As soon as we identified her I sent Officer Privin back to her room to see what he could find, he should be back soon,” Carrot replied, shutting his notebook decisively as Igor shuffled obliquely up to them.

“Ith definitely as you thought thur. I thaw lots jutht like it back in Bonk, and the wounds are unmistakable.”

Vimes had been aware of Angua’s tense, inhuman control fraying since she had fetched him and now she exploded, almost snarling as she advanced on Carrot.

“I told you! I could smell them all over; they haven’t even tried to hide their scent. Have you really looked at the blood, how it’s been scattered and smeared all over? They were playing - it’s a taunt, or a challenge, or both! Whatever they bloody meant, it’s always a game to them.”

Carrot stepped forward and laid a hand gently on her shoulder. She glared at him for an instant more, then her head dropped and she shook all over for a second before pulling herself together.

“Would anyone mind telling me what’s going on any time soon Captain?” Vimes asked. “I seem to have been out of the room when the explanations were handed out.”

“Well sir,” began Carrot, “It’s one of the reasons we needed you down here so urgently.”

“Werewolves,” Angua cut in, her voice straining with the effort of limiting her tone to the four of them. “It’s my bloody family messing around again, or more like them, Gods know what they’re doing this time, whether they know about you yet…and why the hell they chose this poor girl.”

Vimes frowned and waved an arm towards the scene.

“So why do you need me so badly? They don’t seem to have even tried being careful with this and, if any of them were related to Angua, surely she could track them with her head in Nobby’s vest?”

“They certainly haven’t been careful, but they have been clever,” said Angua, grimacing. “Whoever it is, they’re obviously toying with us. It’s the only reason they would have been so…messy. But there are two distinct scent trails, one towards the city and one heading further out. No way to tell which is the right one.”

“A trap then,” Vimes replied shortly. “Which suggests they know about my recent…changes. They know Angua will follow the trail back to Ankh-Morpork, she has more experience following one scent with those other distractions. That means they want me away from the city for some reason and we can’t afford to be clever. If either of the trails are right then every minute we waste they get further from us.”

“That sounds about ri- ” Angua stopped, her head turning, a low growl building in her throat.

Vimes looked towards what had caught her eye and saw a petrified Privin, holding a large bunch of roses in front of him as if they were his sole defence. Angua stalked forward and snatched the blooms from his hand.

“Were these in her dressing room?” she snapped.

“Yes sir, with this card…and the doorman says he saw her waiting at the stage entrance when he came off shift, and he passed a man heading towards the Opera house as he left and - ”

Angua turned on her heel and brandished the flowers towards Vimes.

“When my father ran the game, girls were never allowed to take part. He said it wasn’t sporting. But when Wolf took over he did it another way. These roses are the only breed that stand the cold in Uberwald so he would send select girls big bunches, woo them, pretend to fall in love. Then he would lead them into the woods and make them run.”

Neither Vimes nor Carrot wanted to make the obvious response, but Angua could read the look repeated on each face.

“He came back before,” she said simply, gazing blankly towards the horizon. 

Vimes left her to Carrot and moved towards the still shivering watchman.

“Report to Corporal Littlebottom and tell her I said to take you and the rest of the squad over to the Opera house. Igor can handle the rest here and I need to know as much about her secret admirer as you can find. Take the farmer back to the watch house too, we need to go over exactly how he found her.”

The boy nodded gratefully and made a hasty retreat, followed by Igor who moved straight to the body, tenderly neatening and cleaning Christine to make her final repose seem more natural. As the watchmen trooped away towards Ankh-Morpork, Vimes turned to Angua and Carrot. 

“Do you really think it could have been him?” he asked, dreading the answer.

Angua shrugged free of Carrot’s embrace. Her face was still drawn and haggard, but she had regained a measure of composure.

“I doubt even he could have come back from…what happened. Besides, I don’t smell him anywhere. Wolf did always have those who admired his technique.”

Vimes stood there awkwardly, not really knowing how to react to the pain written across her face. Family life was complicated enough when everyone was the same shape at the same time and he had never been an expert.

“We had better get started,” he said finally, turning away and loosening the straps on his breastplate. 

Behind him he heard diplomatic shuffling that he imagined was Carrot moving a little way off, coupled with the sound of Angua beginning her own preparations. As Vimes finished undressing, he briefly contemplated the absurdity of the Commander of the Watch, standing naked in a cabbage field about to track down a suspect in the form of a large black wolf.

‘At least it isn’t a terrier…’ he thought, feeling the morphic dislocation that resulted from what was still an unaccustomed change.

Vimes shook himself, his ears flicking as he adjusted to the difference in his senses. The blood scent was stronger now, a coppery-crimson mist that wound around him like an unwelcome lover. He pushed it away with an effort of will, concentrating on the two other distinct colours frolicking in thick treads around the body. Deep purple and green respectively, they shimmered with the unhealthy sheen of the Ankh on a summer’s day, oozing over everything they touched.

At a sound from Angua he turned to see her scenting the ground while Carrot collected their uniforms. She turned her head, pawing the collar she wore into a more comfortable position before turning away from the body, following the green trail towards the city. Vimes dipped his head in farewell and bent to his own task. The scent led deeper into the fields, further away from the city, and the further Vimes followed the more he suspected a trap. It ran straight, with no attempt to hide or confuse the pursuer. Even for a killer on the run this would be sloppy…for a werewolf it was unheard of.

The thunder of a summer storm boomed across the sky and Vimes quickened his pace. He was capable of tracking in the rain, but the more it continued the thinner the scent got. The sight of woodland and the feeling of grass under his paws brought Vimes up short…surely he couldn’t be that far from the city already? Then he remembered, this was that area of unfarmed land that some richer members of the city had insisted Vetinari create. They whittered on about this so-called ‘Green belt’ being vital for the conservation of wildlife in and around Ankh-Morpork, and Vetinari had finally allowed it due to there being nothing actually affected by the whole plan.

Vimes snorted inwardly. He remembered the last lot of people like them, concerned with the pollution in the Ankh itself. Of the five people that lined upon the bank of the river in their waterproofs and waders, only three had returned. Two of these were still shunned from society because of the smell; the other refused to talk to anyone but his hat, which he claimed kept the flying crocodiles away. 

He looked towards the trees, then back towards the city. This was further than he had hoped he would have to go, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that knowing about a trap beforehand was always not enough to deal with it. Then, with impeccable timing, the weather made his mind up for him. The heavy, driving rain plastered Vimes’ fur flat in seconds, causing him to crouch down and flatten his ears against the deluge. He had to go on now or there would be absolutely no chance of tracking. Already the smoke was thinning and fragmenting with the wind and water, so Vimes trotted forward to the edge of the tree line.

As lightning forked across the sky, the crash of thunder was not enough to drown out a far more worrying sound. Suddenly, behind him, the howl went up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is a good reward for everyone's patience, lets get this story on the road...


	3. Power play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, in Ankh-Morpork...

Angua walked out of the alley, shaking her head with a frustrated sigh.

“It’s no good,” she muttered, dropping into step alongside Carrot. “Whichever one came back to the city didn’t want me following any further and had help. It’s like trying to unwind a nest of snakes with your hands tied behind your back.”

“Do you think they’ve left?” Carrot replied, his face thoughtful.

“I can’t smell for certain, but I doubt they’ve left. They haven’t done nearly enough yet.”

The anger that had been driving Angua had mostly subsided, leaving in its place an empty numbness that echoed in her chest. She knew what Carrot’s eventual question would be; it was what she had been constantly turning over in her mind, worrying at it like a tongue returning to a loose tooth. She had no idea what they were here for…or who they actually were for that matter. She couldn’t smell anyone she recognised, even from the very extended pack, but who else would come so far for so little reason? The murder of one singer was hardly a reason to travel the great distance from Uberwald.

Thunder rumbled over the city, and Angua realised that the day had been growing darker for some time, in a way that couldn’t just be the approaching dusk.

“The Commander will have trouble tracking if that storm breaks,” Carrot said, in a slightly worried tone.

Angua looked up at the clouds, narrowing her eyes as a flicker of lightning forked from the bruised sky.

“Summer storms may be heavy, but they pass quickly. I’m more concerned about him going too far before dark. You know what will happen if he thinks he’s getting close, he won’t stop.”

Carrot nodded, looking back towards the fields with a troubled frown. Angua bumped her shoulder against his, bringing his gaze back to her.

“You know he hates it when you worry about him. Remember, he may be new to all this but Vimes can always take care of himself."

*

Vetinari was reading over the never-ending pile of reports when he heard a small noise from outside the door, as if Drumknott had knocked over an inkwell. Most people would have put it down to a careless clerk, if they had heard it at all, so would have been surprised when Vetinari raised an eyebrow and blew out the solitary candle fighting the encroaching evening. His hand slid down the desk and pressed an area of wood, seemingly identical to all the others until it slid inwards under his fingers. A hidden compartment opened near his other hand and he removed a narrow blade, the hilt intricately bound with wire. Then he stood, turning his gaze towards the door.

In the outer room, Luka dropped the clerk’s body back in his chair. The thirst for blood was almost overwhelming, but he had been ordered to leave the man alive and unaltered. Fen and Skuld were having all the fun; one actually killing the girl and the other laying the trap for Angua’s bastard. All he and the others had done so far was to hide the trail and wait in this stinking city. Still, all he had to do was this one thing, then he would be left in charge of the Ankh-Morpork plan. Such an easy thing too, this one man who ruled his city from behind a desk while others did his fighting for him.

Luka felt his face shift slightly as he opened the door a crack to peer in; longer teeth and yellow eyes to better frighten a man who had no idea of what was coming. He froze when he saw the empty room, the curtains billowing away from the open window. He smiled slyly, getting a better grip on the door handle.

‘ _Stupid_ ,” he thought, almost irritated that there would be no challenge. ‘ _Oldest trick in the book_.’

He burst into the room, spinning around to face the area behind the opening door where he knew the Patrician would be hiding. The growl in his throat ceased as he stared in puzzlement at the empty patch of wall. He started to turn but it was already too late. Luka felt a cold, metallic point at his neck, then a silken voice spoke by his ear.

“Never ignore the straightforward option. Now, tell your friend to step into the doorway.”

Luka tried to shake his head, but the arm tightened around his neck even swallowing away the dryness of his mouth seemed far too risky.

“I came alone, there isn’t…”

His strangled protest died on his lips as a slow handclap echoed in the small room. A large figure stepped into the doorway, darkly silhouetted against the light streaming from the clerk’s office.

“Fen,” Luka whimpered in surprise. “You have to help me, he…”

"Shut up,” Fen snapped, leaning one arm on the door frame in a strangely relaxed manner. “You know that blade won’t kill you…and if he slits your throat at least I won’t have to listen to your whining for a while.”

“If you concentrate,” Vetinari began, “You will sense the silver wire binding the handle. With no cross-piece to hinder it, I will have no difficulty pushing it fully though your partner’s neck…if the need arises.”

“And why would that matter to me?” asked Fen, in the same deep growl that had been Christine’s last sound. “The runt is no friend of mine.”

“But a pack-mate?” Vetinari replied in an even tone.

Fen bit back a snarl, the wood of the door frame splintering under clenching fingers that were briefly more like claws. The next minute he was back in control, an amused glint in his eyes.

“And what of your own pack-mate?” he said in a dark tone, stalking a little closer. “You must know we want you alive, or you wouldn’t still be here. Surely you would expect us to have some leverage to ensure your cooperation. How would the react to the relationship between their leader and their watchman, especially if the latter’s tainted blood was to become common knowledge?”

There was an almost imperceptible hiss of indrawn air, only audible due to the werewolves’ superior hearing. Luka felt the dagger dig slightly deeper into his neck.

“There will be ample time to discover how you came by that information,” Vetinari said, his composure back in place. “But don’t think you can use that against me. Neither of you will live to spread the information and I have ways of silencing any others you have waiting in the city.”

There was a pause, then Fen began to laugh, a soft chuckle that swelled like a rotting carcass.

“I’m impressed,” he said finally. “She told me you were good, and I doubt she would be disappointed. No, I didn’t think that threat would be nearly enough, so we took the time to arrange another little prelude to our meeting; one that would remove the dashing Commander Vimes from the city, far from any assistance.”

“The girl,” Vetinari stated coldly. “But you may have underestimated him. Vimes can keep himself alive in the most dangerous situations, and he has faced your kind before.”

“As a man maybe,” Luka finally spoke up, confidant that the encounter was coming back under their control. Fen scowled then favored him with a grudging nod.

“Exactly why we will not risk any of ‘our kind’ against him,” he drawled. “It’s quite shocking what a pack of normal wolves can do to a werewolf when they find him… and of course it doesn’t matter which form he takes, they will always know the scent. It’s a shame that no last-minute help will be given to him; unless you can think of something to offer us in return?”

No-one moved for a long moment, then Luka dared to speak again, the arrogant smirk finally back on his face.

“He might be able to survive on his own and we might be lying. Can you gamble with his life?”

For a terrible instance he thought he had miscalculated as the arm holding him flexed, then the dagger fell to the floor with a thud that seemed louder than the storm outside. Luka turned to see Vetinari step back, his face tight, his arms by his sides. Fen stepped behind him, removing a black leather cosh from his pocket which he brought down on the back of Vetinari’s skull, dropping him soundlessly to the floor. The older werewolf then rounded on Luka, his lips writhed back from his teeth and the hair on the back of his neck bristling.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he growled. “You were warned not to underestimate him, yet I find you taken unawares and yipping for help like a new-born pup. How are we meant to leave you in charge here if I can’t trust you with such a simple task?”

Luka shrank back, his body poised between the urge to cower and the urge to spring. His fingers curled into fists and he made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. The two males stalked around each other stiff-legged, until Fen shook himself and relaxed, moving in to rub his cheek against the other’s hair.

“Perhaps I spoke too harshly brother,” he said softly. “Skuld and I trust you with our lives…and I can see myself making the same error. These weak men are so easy to play with; we forget not all wolves wear fur.”

Luka’s face broke into a grin, happy that his older brother was no longer angry. Fen was not so bad, but if he had decided to tell Skuld what had happened she would have been far worse. He took a rough brown cloak off his shoulders and flung it over the prone body on the floor, then bent down.

“Come on then,” he said over his shoulder, beckoning to Fen. “We need to get the both of you out before they close the city gates for the night.”

No-one noticed the two men leaving the Patrician’s palace with the carpet slung between them, or remarked on the single man who drove his carriage out of the gate before nightfall accompanied by a pack of hunting dogs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for leap-frogging cliffhangers, we will catch up with Vimes in the next chapter. See you soonish!


	4. To beat the devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Proof that the Disc's weather also respects narrative imperative

As the savage howl went up behind him Vimes whipped round, instinctively crouching low to the scrubby ground. In the brief afterglow of the lightning flash he caught a glimpse of them, before they vanished into the dead ground between two of the more raised fields.

Vimes mentally cursed, lips writhing back from his teeth as he glanced around in a moment of indecision. He hadn’t had time to separate the sodden-furred mass into individual bodies, but the size definitely indicated a full pack…and he didn’t have time to wonder why the hell they were so comparatively near to Ankh-Morpork. If they had just been tracking him by smell he might have had a chance to lose them and break for the city, but Vimes knew what the howl meant. It meant they had caught sight of him, and in a straight run over flat fields they would outrun him, surround him and pull him down with ease. He took a last longing look towards the too distant lights, then turned and dove into the dark shadows under the trees.

*

Sybil sat at her writing desk, doing her level best not to do anything so unladylike as to worry at her lower lip. Seeing as her level best had a life-time of breeding behind it the impulse didn’t have a hope, but that didn’t stop it attempting a valiant rearguard action.

The reason for Sybil’s anxiety was simple; for perhaps the first time in her adult life she had no idea what to write. As a regular patron of the Opera House she had felt obliged to write a letter of condolence on hearing of Christine’s untimely death, but now she had come to putting pen to paper the actual words eluded her. Sybil had always embraced the idea that if you couldn’t give praise you could be kind, and if you couldn’t be kind you could be polite, but as to what to say about the whole situation…

She knew she should say that everything would be resolved quickly, but she also knew that Sam had been called out of a council meeting to deal with the situation and that wouldn’t happen with a normal murder, whatever _that_ was. Sybil stared out of the window with a worried frown, another crumpled attempt at solace swept to one side. All the carefully constructed pleasantries had quite fallen out of her head, leaving her with nothing left but a terrible sense of foreboding.

*

Vimes’ breath sawed harshly in his throat, tongue lolling from his panting mouth as he ran headlong through the trees. He jumped a fallen log, one paw slipping on some wet twigs and almost tumbling him, but forward momentum saved him and he barely slowed. The wood echoed with the sounds of pursuit, the trees catching and throwing back the sound until it sounded as though they were all around him, in front as well as behind, made worse by the muffling effect of the rain. Vimes knew this couldn’t be the case, but the thought gave new energy to his aching body.

He had been unable to lose them and now only a fleeting head-start was keeping him alive, in a chase he couldn’t possibly win. His eyes flicked desperately around as he ran. Human intelligence was the only thing that could give him an edge now, clutching for control over a panicked wolf that wanted to either run until his legs failed, or turn and fight until sharp teeth found his throat. Vimes snarled, trying to get the still unfamiliar part of his mind to understand; he would fight, but in a place of his choosing. He remembered one of the few lessons Angua had been able to give him, in one of the rare evenings neither of them would be missed.

*

_Angua trotted forward cautiously and sniffed around the base of a tree, then tilted her head to indicate that Vimes could stop acting as sentry and come closer._

_“It’s fine, the scent is a week old at least. This pack won’t be back any time soon.”_

_They were further out that she had ever taken him before, they would have to run flat-out to make it back to Ankh-Morpork before dawn but Angua had been definite about how important this was._

_“Remember the smell and signs, avoid them if at all possible,” she said seriously, sitting to one side while Vimes cast around the marked ground. “Wolves don’t take kindly to our kind, even if they don’t see you they may follow a werewolf track for days to make sure it leaves their territory. If they do track you down they’ll hunt and kill you to protect themselves, so don’t expect mercy or any other human traits.”_

_Vimes looked up, coming over to stand beside her._

_“And if the worst should happen?” he asked, shifting his paws in the soil._

_“Don’t try to run or fight over open ground,” she began, looking away towards the horizon. “They won’t come at you one by one, or let you fight the leader to prove yourself - they’ll surround you, ham-string you if they can, then rip you to pieces all together. Get to cover if you can…even if you don’t have time to hide your trail you may find somewhere to hold them off, where their numbers don’t matter.”_

*

Vimes turned suddenly to the left, following a slight smell that had snaked over like a whisper of hope. As he ran closer he could see a deep, steep-sided ditch, the brackish trickle of water at its base what he had miraculously smelt through the sheeting rain. He ran along-side, opposite to the flow, weighing the risk in his mind. If this was one of the tributaries feeding the Ankh then something must be damming its flow, something that might form enough of a barrier to make a stand. On the other hand, even if that was the case, if any of the wolves had managed to outflank him they could block his escape or simply come at him from above. Another howl, closer this time, made up his mind for him. If he didn’t find a place soon he would have no energy left to face them, this was his only hope. Barely checking his speed he half leapt, half slid down the slick bank. Halfway down his feet slipped from under him and he rolled the rest of the way, splashing down into a shallow pool with a strangled yelp. He jumped up again in an instance, wincing at the pain in his side before resuming his punishing run.

The going in the ditch was hard and Vimes could feel himself slowing. The mud was deep, almost half-way up his legs in places, and he could hear the sounds of pursuit getting louder. Luckily all the wolves seemed to have followed him into the stream-bed as he couldn’t hear any noise from above him, perhaps none of them believed he could escape back out. Vimes dodged around a fallen tree that had half-slid down the bank, pushed through some close-packed branches, then stopped dead.

He had found the source of the blocked water. One whole side of the bank had collapsed in the sudden storm, bringing with it a strand of trees that had choked even this deep waterway. Some water still welled over the top and through cracks, but all it could do was turn the earth at the base of the dam to a churned mess of mud and leaves. The sides were high, steep and strewn with debris; no-one would be able to get at him from the back or sides. Vimes looked back the way he had come and showed his teeth in a terrible imitation of a smile. The trunk he had just squeezed past narrowed the ditch even more, meaning they could only come through one or two at a time. By a mixture of planning and pure luck he had perhaps found the only place to even the score. Vimes sat on his haunches near the gap, panting as he tried to recover his breath, waiting for his pursuers to come into view.

*

The wolves ran as a pack, shoulder to shoulder down the narrow trench in the earth, tired but determined. They had discovered the sickening trace in their territory as dawn approached, so fresh they knew the perversion would be close by. Indeed they had caught glimpses of the pale furtive shape throughout the day as they gave chase, but somehow had been unable to close with it, even though the trail was pure and clear.

When they reached the border of their territory many had wished to turn back. The sun was high and there were cubs to be cared for, the nurses waiting to be relieved. The alpha had overruled them though, supported by his mate. This wrongness had made an obvious challenge to the pack, one that must be met if. They followed on as the sky darkened, the air heavy and clogging to the senses, into unfamiliar fields heavy with human scent. Then the trail was gone, as if it had never been. The pack had never encountered such a thing, but then the thought was driven from their minds. Another trail, a dark form on the edge of the wood...catching sight of the twisted form was too much for the frustrated wolves. As the rain poured over them they gave tongue, eager to end one threat where the other had led.

Now, at the front of the pack, the alpha halted, stopping the others and nipping the shoulder of one who looked to pass. The wolves began to mill anxiously, looking to the narrow gap left by the fallen tree. They could smell the twisted scent behind, but with such a narrow entrance the members would be vulnerable.

*

Vimes crouched behind the tree-trunk, muddy water saturating his fur. The pack had stopped and he could hear the low murmur as they conferred amongst each other. He knew it was only matter of time before he would have to fight; after chasing him so far they would not turn back so easily. Sure enough, as he thought this, the sound of discussion stopped and he could hear the squelch of mud as someone approached the gap.

A brown shape pushed cautiously through but Vimes wasted no time letting it get its bearings. He left his hiding place, taking advantage of the surprise he would only be able to use once. Running in low to the ground, he came under the wolf’s guard to fasten his teeth in its throat, ripping until hot blood spurted over his eyes and muzzle. The unfortunate wolf gave a rattling gasp and dropped to the mud, twitching spasmodically as its life pulsed away into the stagnant slop. Vimes backed off a pace, the taste horrible and wonderful in his mouth. His mind recoiled at the murder, even as the wolf in him reveled in the clean kill.

The moment's hesitation cost him however, as the next minute he was bowled off his feet by a hard impact to his shoulder. He slid in the wet mud, rolling quickly to keep snapping jaws clear of his neck as he regained his feet. He faced the big female, mindful as they circled that he now had his back to the gap in the branches. He chanced a quick glance over his shoulder, seeing another wolf trying to pick its way past its fallen pack-mate.

Vimes realised he had to act fast or be overrun. He charged the female stalking round him, driving into her shoulder with his chest so her feet slipped from under in the mire. He then rounded quickly on the other wolf, who had not yet negotiated the obstructed entrance. He went as if for the throat but as he reached it, twisted down and to the side - letting the other wolf’s teeth sink into his shoulder. Vimes closed his jaws over its forelimb, biting down hard enough to feel the splintering of bone. The wolf released Vimes, howling with the pain of its shattered limb. As Vimes hoped it could not move forward, but neither could the other wolves push past it.

He turned back, just in time to meet the female’s rush. He braced himself, checking her even as his feet slid back slightly. They both reared up to meet each other, their chests touching, lips cut and bleeding as fang clashed with fang. They broke off and resumed wary circling, her growl rising and falling over the pitiful whines of the other wolf who was trying in vain to push through the rest of the way and come to her aid.

“Go back!” Vimes snarled desperately at her. “I don’t know what made you come this far but I didn’t invade your territory, I don’t want this fight. I won’t kill any more of you.”

The female’s face wrinkled, displaying her bloody mouth. Eyes glittering with hate she glared at him, then without warning she dove in again, scoring bloody tracks down the side of his neck. Vimes tried to go on the defensive, avoiding her lunges as he backed towards the dam that blocked them in. She whined in furious frustration, trying again and again to fasten her teeth in his throat. Over her shoulder he could see that the other wolf was nearly free of the gap, which would allow the other wolves to come boiling through. With a despairing snarl he pushed off the dam, using his greater body-weight to bear her to the ground. His teeth slashed down once then he stood, her body dropping boneless to the ground.

Vimes turned slowly, advancing on the remaining wolf, fur bristling and sticky with gore. He growled, forcing the other to limp and wriggle painfully back to join the rest of the pack. As soon as the other wolf was out of sight Vimes let his head drop, his entire body aching. The tremors that ran down his legs told him that, if the wolves decided to attack again, he would be in no shape to face them...if he even wanted to. He viewed the results of his savagery with bleak repulsion. It was the sort of thing he had always hoped he wasn't capable of, but the wolf within him had risen to the challenge with sickening ease.

Then, beyond the branches, the chorus of anger changed abruptly into one of fear. Vimes could hear whines and panicked snarls, coupled with sounds of bodies splashing into the mud. There was a desperate howl and a snapping of branches, then the head and forelimbs of a mud-streaked wolf crashed through the gap in front of Vimes. Its fear-maddened eyes met his for a moment, then it thrashed and scrabbled as it was inexorably drawn back. Vimes moved warily to the hole it had left, but as he did so all sounds ceased and he could see nothing beyond the tree’s trunk. He was about to make his way through, against his better judgment, when a haughty voice from behind him pulled him up short.

“I have to admit I’m impressed. For a such a civilised man, you’ve really done rather well.”

Vimes turned slowly, confidant that if whoever was behind him had intended to attack they would not have announced themselves beforehand. As he did so a silhouetted figure left the trees at the edge of the trench, trotting forward to stand on the centre of the dam. The female werewolf stepped forward, moonlight shining off her pure-white coat. She stared down at Vimes with an expression that was equal parts malice and amusement, pitiless black eyes proving she was no albino throwback.

“I almost wish we hadn’t stepped in to help,” she continued, the redness of her mouth even brighter contrasted with the pale coat. “But we had to be on the safe side. You getting torn apart by ordinary wolves just doesn’t feature in our plans, even if I had to expend all that effort bringing them here.”

“Did you kill the girl as well, or are animals all you can handle?” Vimes asked harshly, baring his teeth.

“Shut up!” she snapped, and for a second Vimes caught the flash of pure madness in her eyes before she brought herself back under control. “If I were you, I would worry less about the girl and more about those you left behind in the city. No matter what she says, I wouldn’t bother to save you if Luka hadn’t completed his task, though I expect Fen will have had to step in, as usual.”

The last sentence was muttered more to herself than to him, but Vimes barely noticed over the crushing band which seemed to be gripping his chest.

“What have you done?” he said in a low voice, ears forward as the fur on his neck bristled.

Her tongue lolled out of her mouth, then she bent her chest low to the ground and wagged her tail, like a dog inviting another to play.

“We’ve taken what is yours and now you have to chase us!” she said in a sing-song tone, the taunt obviously designed to anger him further. “What will the city do without its leader...what will you do without yours?”

Awful realisation crept over Vimes and he reflexively turned, wanting to run back to the city even though he knew it would be too late. He had only begun to move when her voice snapped out like a whip, cutting through the reddened haze of his thoughts.

“You take one step and he is already dead.”

Vimes checked, looking up at her with narrowing eyes.

“That’s better,” she continued, ignoring his expression. “Listening to me is the only chance you have…if you ignore my instructions in the slightest way, we won’t even leave you a body to bury.”

She began to pace back and forth on top of the dam, her dark eyes always fixed on his.

“You will go nowhere near Ankh-Morpork. If you even try to pass a message, those of us left in the city will know and he will suffer. Your task is to keep up with us. Fen is already a night’s travel ahead of you and once I join him we will not stop - it is easy when you realise that coaching-inn horses are made out of money rather than flesh, so don‘t entertain hopes of catching us before we reach our destination. You will also not have the luxury of stopping more than is absolutely necessary. Each evening we will send up a howl, one which you will reply to. If we feel you have fallen too far behind...we will leave you a piece of him for each mile you have to make up.”

She stopped her pacing then unexpectedly sat, pointing her nose at the sky and giving an undulating howl.

“I expect you trust him to escape?” she asked Vimes when she had finished, taking his answering growl as confirmation. “He couldn’t avoid his capture, could he? The vaunted Vetinari, taken at his desk like any frightened bureaucrat. I hope you will be more of a challenge, Mr. Vimes. Now, consider this a present, a little reminder of what you did to one of the best of us…with love from Skuld.”

She padded over to a thick branch sticking up out of the top of the dam and took it carefully in her jaws. As she did so there was an ominous creaking and extra trickles of water began pulsing from around the sides. Vimes flattened his ears back against his head, eyes widening as he realised what she must be about to do. He crouched and sprang at side of the ditch, trying to gain a purchase in the unstable side, his claws slipping in the mud as he slid inexorably back. From the corner of his eye he saw Skuld looking down at him, then she heaved with all her strength, leaping to safety as the wall of wood dissolved under her.

The deluge of icy water swept over Vimes, plucking him from his precarious position and plunging him under. He fought against the current, his head breaking the churning flow long enough to snatch a hurried gasp of air before a wave swamped him, pushing him down again. He twisted in the grip of the water, unsure even which way was up as he felt debris buffet around him. More by luck more than design he surfaced near the middle of the now surging river, trying to angle towards the nearest bank until a log struck him and Vimes was swept down into the cold and dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant it about the cliffhangers. Sorry for the long wait, who knew your computer (figuratively) exploding could be so inconvenient?


	5. Those left behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the wrong cliffhanger is resolved

Carrot scraped the razor methodically down his cheek, his face a solid mask of concentration. A faint line of worry creased between his eyebrows when he thought of Commander Vimes. It always concerned Carrot when the Commander was out alone; the man tended to take on more than he could handle at the best of times...and the crawling feeling between his shoulder blades warned Carrot that there was trouble brewing in the city. A faint noise from downstairs, the snick of a latch coming down, made Carrot pause as he reached for his threadbare towel. For an instance his hand hovered over the hilt of his sword, propped up next to the table, then he picked up the towel anyway and cleaned the remnants of soap off his face. Straightening his armor, he strode down the stairs to find the guardroom empty apart from an apologetic chairful of worried Sybil. She stood as he entered; her expression that of a woman who was upset but too well bred to show it.

“Oh Captain, I hope I didn't disturb you; letting myself in before the rest of the men even arrive.”

She paused, her hands clasped in front of her, knuckles white. Carrot decided to dispense with a formal greeting in favor of encouraging silence.

“Sam didn't come home at all yesterday and neither bed has been slept in. Hardly unusual, I know, but there is normally more uproar in the city when Sam has been out that long. He always comes home after something terrible happens in the city.”

So news of the girl's death was already spreading, hopefully missing a few of the more worrying details. Carrot's mouth tightened with unease. When the Watch house had been empty this morning he had hoped the Commander had gone straight home to rest, as unlikely as that was. 

Any reply was lost when the front door burst open, with such force it smacked into the wall behind, flying back to almost catch the person running in.

“Commander Vimes is needed at the Palace immediately!” gasped a wild-eyed messenger, resting hands on his knees as his chest heaved with the effort of breathing.

“I’m afraid the Commander is currently away on Watch business and cannot be reached,” Carrot replied, his voice slipping smoothly into calm, reassuring tones.

“He can’t be!” the man cried, standing straight and staring frantically around as if Vimes would climb sheepishly out of a locker with his hands up. “He has to be here, he can’t not be here!”

He looked hopelessly between Carrot and Sybil, then down at his boots, mumbling his earlier phrase as if it were a charm.

“Commander Vimes is needed at the Palace immediately. I was sent to bring him…it’s urgent.”

Carrot moved to place a hand on the messenger’s shoulder, who started and looked up as if he had forgotten there was anyone else in the room. Carrot drew the man to one side, noticing as he did so the growing trickle of watchmen arriving for their shifts - who were definitely not paying any attention to what was happening.

“This is Captain Carrot, who is acting Commander whilst His Grace is away,” Sybil said softly, flanking the dazed man and helping to usher him to a quieter spot. “I’m sure he can be of help, whatever the nature of your problem.”

The messenger looked at Carrot as blankly at first, brow furrowing as his mind latched onto the new train of thought.

“Captain, thank Gods,” he said briskly, throwing out his chest and bringing his heels together smartly. “You must come with me to the palace immediately; everything will be explained once you arrive.”

He shook off the supporting hands and moved to stand by the door, relief pouring off him in waves now someone else took responsibility for events. Carrot lingered by Sybil, shooting her a concerned glance. She shook her head.

“You had better go Captain,” she sighed with a ghost of a weary smile. “The City has always been a more demanding woman than I.”

Carrot still hesitated scanning the rows of innocently bustling watchmen as he did, looking for the gaze that most obviously avoided his. Once Nobby had been located in that time-honored method he gestured Sybil over.

"Sergeant Nobbs will get runners sent out to the other Watch Houses. If the Commander is anywhere in the City..."

Angua appeared at his elbow, the worried tilt of her head showing she had overheard the tail end of the discussion.

“Angua, you had better join me at the Palace. I doubt there is much more to find at the Opera House, and I might need you.”

He didn't mention why he particular skill set might be needed, and she couldn't bear to ask.

*

Carrot’s arrival at the palace was a stone thrown into a pool of uneasy silence. Ripples of anxious whispers spread from his vicinity, growing and widening as he neared Vetinari’s office. Angua stalked in his wake, watching the looks and gestures behind Carrot’s back as he strode down the corridors. The closer they got to their destination the more animated people became; some fearful but still more with a strange, brittle hope.

The office itself was a scene of disarray, books and papers flung into heedless heaps with the occasional overturned chair. Angua stared in dull resignation, not at the room but at the familiar green scent that hung thickly on the air. Drumknott sat rigidly upright behind his skewed desk, fingers dinting the arms of his chair as one of the palace physicians finished splinting his wrist. His eyes widened as Carrot entered the room, lips thinning as he tersely waved the doctor from the room. When the three of them were alone the secretary stood unsteadily, still managing a disapproving glower with eyes shadowed by pain. 

“Captain Carrot this is unexpected. I do not wish you to think that I doubt your considerable talents, but I had hoped my messenger would have been clearer. As you can see…,” he said, breaking off to indicate his bandage-swathed head, “there has been something of an incident here, to put it mildly, and I thought the Commander might be best to handle it. We need to move quickly…I sealed the palace as soon as I could, but I doubt it will be long before rumors make their way out onto the streets; if they have not already done so.”

“Rumors?” asked Carrot, as beside him a horrible feeling of certainty began to creep over Angua. 

Drumknott gave him an appraising look before sighing, rubbing between his eyes tiredly.

“I suppose if I can’t trust Vimes’ chosen Watchmen the city is already lost."

He made a weary circuit of the room checking hidden panels, as well as the more obvious methods of eavesdropping like door and window.

"Last night someone broke into the palace, someone good enough to get past both normal guards and myself. Now Vetinari is missing, with none of the usual signs to indicate he is about his own business. As you can see Captain, I really was hoping that Vimes might lend some of his own time to this case.”

“The Commander left the city on the trail of a murderer yesterday,” Angua interrupted, voice leaden. “From what I smell in this room we have to think of him as missing as well."

She slumped against the desk, shrugging off Carrot's supporting arm.

"I can’t tell what purpose the game is this time, but one of them is being forced to run.”

Between them they filled Drumknott in on the previous events, his face growing more and more pensive. Finally he sat forward, gingerly rubbing his fingers together as he thought.

“It seems to me,” he said finally, “That whoever we are dealing with are intelligent enough to know what makes this city vulnerable. Without the Patrician and the Commander to stop the Council tearing themselves apart the resulting chaos can easily be take advantage of. We should trust that the two of them will be able to handle their situation, the City might need extra help.”

“What are you trying to suggest?” Angua asked suspiciously, noticing how the clerk’s eyes had flicked nervously to Carrot during the last part.

“Ankh-Morpork needs united leadership to avoid whatever trap is lying in wait. I think the Captain knows how this could be provided.”

Angua followed his deliberate gaze to Carrot, her eyes widening as the tall man began to nod slowly. As he opened his mouth to speak it seemed almost as if time was slowing, reality paused, ready to flow one way or the other.

“Yes,” Carrot replied decisively. “I would be honored to take the Commander’s place on the Council in his absence. With you standing for the Patrician, hopefully the two of us together will be able to keep order.”

Drumknott looked at Carrot appraisingly, then gave a slight quirk of his lips in what was almost an approving smile.

“Yes, that might be best. I will convene a Council meeting as soon as possible, before speculation runs totally rampant. The other members will have to leave enough time to seem importantly busy, so I suggest you use the delay to brief your men. We will need you all prepared if we are to weather this storm.”

*

Vetinari awoke to his head rhythmically knocking against a wall, that had obviously been padded more for artistic effect than actual comfort. He kept his body limp and his eyes closed, not even trying to swallow away the clicking dryness in his throat. He began to catalogue the information his senses had been forming an orderly queue to present. The rough burlap that chafed against his cheek had a sour, musty smell of old soil - a potato sack placed over his head. He could hear the creaking of a leather harness and the rapid drumming of hooves, as well as the occasional snort of an exhausted horse and the crack of a whip. Filtering over all of this however, was the atmosphere of the coach…a stretched, glittering tension, like the space linking two dogs’ eyes the moment before they spring. The smells of sweat, and old blood.

An impatient sigh that was half growl split the moment, followed by the sound of a large body changing position in a small space.

“Who gave those three control of this?” said someone with a disgruntled whine.

“You know who,” replied a deeper voice, brittle with strained patience.

“But they aren't part of our pack, they aren't even worthy to lick his muzzle!”

“And you are the one to decide that? They owe their allegiance to her, we all do, she sent them to help us. Even the Baroness knows that.”

“But now there are only two left, against all of us. There could be an accident…”

“Not one the Baroness would accept. All she cares is that they get us our revenge on the bitch’s whelp who thinks himself a wolf.”

At that moment the coach ground to a halt and the door Vetinari slumped against was wrenched open. He allowed himself to tumble limply to the ground, but was snatched up again by a cruel grip that dug into his shoulder.

“You stupid mongrels,” a feminine voice snarled. “Even a human could spot someone pretending to be unconscious if they were sitting less than a foot away!”

There was a snap of teeth, then yelps from the coach that swiftly receded. The grip on his shoulder loosened as Vetinari was pushed against the coach’s step, which he negotiated with grace that was unaffected by his inability to see. The coach rocked as two more bodies entered, then an impatient rap on the roof started the horses moving once again.

“You are almost as bad Fen,” the voice continued more softly, the sound getting louder as the speaker leaned towards Vetinari.

The hood was pulled away, and he found himself facing the occupants of the coach. A slight woman with a hard edge to her features sat back holding the sack. Her white hair almost seemed to glow, her pallor contrasting with the dark hair and eyes of the tall man folded into the seat next to her. Vetinari inclined his head in recognition of his captor, as composed as if this were a meeting of Guild leaders in the Palace.

“I am Skuld," the woman began, "and I apologise for the actions of my brother, he was meant to see you wake but found the lure of the trail too much to pass up. Rest assured you will be guarded more closely now…we have been warned not to underestimate you.”

She leant back with the casual arrogance of a predator, talking to her brother but keeping her eyes fixed on Vetinari.

“I met with our mongrel,” she said, a cruel amusement animating her features, “And we’ll soon see whether the blood bred true. It was such a shame that dam burst with him still in the river, I was enjoying our chat.”

Vetinari didn't have to struggle for a blank, impassive stare - it was too satisfying to watch her eyes narrow sullenly as she realised her words would not get a reaction. She elbowed Fen, who threw back his head and howled. The pack outside took up the chorus, swelling the sound until it filled the night with savagery. Skuld drew her lips back from her teeth, a mad light in her eyes.

“Now we wait. We get to have so much fun if he fails.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long gap, and I can't promise the next one will be any shorter. I have a horrible habit of tunnel vision when work is stressful - no plans to give up on this story though. As always, thank you for your patience.


End file.
